


Starved for Sunlight

by CamilleNicole59



Series: A Character Study [4]
Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety | Virgil Sanders Needs a Hug, DARK DARK DARK, Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Deceit is morally ambiguous, Delusions, Depersonalization, Depression, Derealization, Dissociation, Emotional Repression, Gen, Hallucinations, Jealousy, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Necrophilia, Mentions of Rape, Mood Swings, Moral Ambiguity, Reality and Fantasy are Blurred, Remus needs a hug, Repressed Thoughts, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Sensory Deprivation, Solitary Confinement, Some Swearing, Sympathetic-ish Deceit, Sympathetic-ish Remus, Trauma, Violence, Violent Thoughts, Virgil Sanders is very bitter, disturbing imagery, heavy trauma, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-07-12 15:17:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19948351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamilleNicole59/pseuds/CamilleNicole59
Summary: They didn't know scary when Thomas called him scary. They didn't know scary when everyone gaped in horror at him, when Thomas was merely eight years old. They didn't know scary when he grazed them with the lightest violence and sexual innuendos that were available, still causing them to scream  and cry.Remus was the master of scary. He knew the depths of terror, was well acquainted with everything horrific. Deceit could only imagine the things he's seen. But the others couldn't even get a mile near, they lacked so much imagination.After all, Remus wasscary.Or.The solitary confinement and mental deterioration fic nobody asked for.





	Starved for Sunlight

**Author's Note:**

> Guess who's back from two years of the black hole of inactivity! THIS GAL!
> 
> Yes, I'm finally back, hating myself for abandoning my only multi-chaptered work, and only publishing three other finished oneshots. I literally had to read the wonderful comments you wrote on my previous works to work up the courage to publish this one.
> 
> DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT. In case you dismissed or didn't read the tags, I'm warning you again. This is DARK. And I don't want to hurt, trigger, or traumatize anyone here, so please avoid it if you're not sure you're gonna be okay after reading this. It's totally fine if you do. Also, I make Remus, Deceit, and Virgil flawed, but obviously not completely good or completely evil, for no aspect of our personalities is perfect or a hopeless lost cause, and nobody's perfect or utterly horrible with no reason. So if that's not your cup of tea, steer clear from this too. I only thought it logical to unleash my darkest imagination to write about the literal representation of dark imagination, that was why I didn't really hold myself back. But if you don't like that, that's okay!
> 
> For those who do read, THANK YOU. I really appreciate the fact that you clicked to check this out, especially after the fact that I failed all who read The Brightest Grin[...]. I hope you enjoy.
> 
> BEFORE BEGINNING TO READ, I highly recommend listening to this masterpiece of a song by mastermind Marco Belloni, the creator of Deceit's theme! It's called Creepy Haunted Dollhouse, and here is the link to the vid: https://youtu.be/kShVoom7_H4. If you want actual creepy singing, listen to Haunted by Evanescence, or maybe The End of the Dream (Synthesis version) by the same band.

He tried to recall his brother's features, his wide, innocent smile, his benign and valiant games, the things they did when they were one, the things they did when they were still together though they've become two, when they were so little, and he was only beginning to realize the world was much darker than his fantasies back then. But he couldn't get far into recalling that sweet brother of his, for the funny dragon witch his twin created became a monster with no eyes and a grin that stretched its face so wide it would snap, and it would drain the life of all that it touched, and maybe tear off limbs for fun, and maybe—

" _No_ ," he snapped to himself, squeezing his eyes shut, then opening them, scared of the visions he'd find if he closed them—but opening his eyes made no difference. It was pitch black in here, he couldn't even see his own hands. He was curled up to himself on the cold floor, sensing the ashes levitating in the air become one with his lashes, his skin, his lungs, and desperately trying to distract himself from...everything. But it was difficult, for it was seemingly forever ago when they were so young, so alike, so _free_ , until Patton began fearing him, and then Roman never truly looked him in the eye after a while. He held onto that name, scared he'd forget it like he was forgetting his own. Roman. _Roman_. Sweet, naïve, stupid Roman. He only remembered the face of a child—how much has he grown now? How much has _Thomas_ grown?

He thought of a train imploding Thomas' body, spreading limbs and gore like splashing water in a pool. He smiled lazily at it, giggled once, then gasped heavily, slapping himself as hard as he could to snap out of the thoughts, thoughts that _hurt_ Thomas and scared Thomas' family and would put Thomas in jail or make everyone think he was _insane_ —

Thomas would count the days in the asylum, painting the walls with the blood of his nails, then decorate the ceiling with some semen—

"Shut _up_!" he screamed at himself, imagining the betrayal and disgust in Patton's eyes when he heard the first horrible thing he'd said to him, unashamedly. Remembering when Patton and Logan discussed whether they should get rid of him to avoid getting in trouble or just leave him with them. Forcing the memory of Roman's _horror_ when he saw all that blood.

They were too young back then.

He hadn't known he's been pacing until he crashed into the wall. That's been happening often: the blacking out, the skips to something he hadn't controlled doing, but was still doing anyway. He continued pacing, feeling all the thoughts scream at him, until all he could think of were murdering a little girl and raping her, or decapitating her, or burning her, or breaking all of her little bones—and he was laughing, because everything was so _funny_ , so funny his laughter became shrieks, and tears started sliding down. It was _hilarious_.

A door crashed open and he jerked away from the sudden light, collapsed onto the cold floor and crawled away into the corner, under the bed he could never sleep on, giggling anxiously all the way. Through the unbearable light that barely filtered through the cracks of the heavy, metal door, Deceit walked in, composed and graceful, staring down at him with no emotion, until for a second the gaze cracked, but the rare sighting was gone without a trace. The dark, or his mind, must have been playing tricks on him.

"So you're unharmed," drawled Deceit, dragging him from under the bed, sitting him like a doll, lifting his head up by gripping his chin. "Totally not attention-seeking, what with the _silent_ rituals you were practicing."

The words stung, but Deceit's heterochromatic irises stared with something buried, but not completely hidden this time. He snickered at it, the urge of gouging his gorgeous eyes almost too great to bear. "I worried you good, didn't I?" He slowly licked the hand holding his chin, disappointed that he didn't feel skin, but cloth. He grinned all the wider anyway, eyes widening at the possibilities of that opened door a mere meter away. His mind began racing. "Let's play outside, and then you'll really be entertained! Don't you think, Deceit? Huh?! I haven't felt the hilt of a knife in Hell knows how _long_ —"

"No." Deceit's gaze was level, cold. ~~Or was it?~~ The penumbra made shadows dance in those confusing eyes, behind his silhouette, but his own mind felt sluggishly disconnected from that single word uttered.

"No?" he echoed, his voice fraught with disbelief. A strange animalistic sound escaped him, almost like a whimper, but mixed with a growl. Then in a flash, without even being aware of his body's movement, he punched Deceit in the nose, sending his backwards with the momentum, then crawled towards the light. He was so _tired_ all the time, but his blood raced and his heart pounded, cheering along to his genius instinct— _oh_ , the possibilities of finally going outside! What did the light feel like again? Did it even exist anymore? Did it escape from the Dark Mindscape altogether? Was he conjuring, imagining the light? He laughed the disturbing thoughts away, crawling faster, bruising his hands and knees with the uneven, freezing floor, coating his skin and disheveled clothes with ashes. He was so close—he could see his own hands in the light, reaching out to to the door, his escape, his freedom—he was _inches_ away from it—

Gravity ceased to exist as his shoulders were pulled, almost torn out of their sockets, and he was violently thrown back, Deceit's pained hiss and resigned sigh echoing through the too quiet cell. "No," he merely repeated, voice hoarse. "You know the rules. You know what Thomas wants."

A cackle escaped him, and his mind uncontrollably conjured an eyeball and a crow bar, but he unwillingly let them slip from his hands as both landed upon his mouth, only slightly muffling his laughter. It was reaching its unbearably shrill volume to make up for Deceit's attempted silencing.

"I'm supposed to feed you, don't make this any easier." From this angle, the light, now so dim, fell on Deceit's pale features and scarred scales, allowed him to see the dark circles under Deceit's eyes.

"Sleeping isn't any fun, now is it?" The words were slurred and muffled from his hands firmly placed upon his lips, for once not trembling like they always did. "Neither is the dark, you know! Or do you wanna fuck here, with nobody to watch?"

Deceit hung his head low, sighing deeply. "You must be so full and well-fed, therefore I'll leave you to digest." Deceit stood, taking the eyeball and crow bar with practiced ease, and his own hands fell limp from his lips, settling over his throat. It took too long for him to process what was happening, but then his heart stopped and his lungs constricted.

"No!" He pleaded, already hoarse, grabbing hold of Deceit's leg like a lifeline. "No, no, no, no no no no, **don't leave me here!** " He was screeching now, a whisper of a demonic screech edging into his voice, but his next words faded when his hair was gripped and he was thrown away like a ragdoll. His head exploded into pain as it came in brutal contact with the floor, and colors flashed into his sight before settling on the darkness once more. The door crashed close, echoing and pummeling his eardrums. He bit his fingers, immediately drawing blood, and pulled on his hair with his other hand, his screaming quickly dissolving into sobs. But then he emptily giggled again, thinking of stabbing Deceit thirty-three times.

* * *

He heard a shuddering breath, felt a vibrating energy other than his, felt the cell somehow becoming even more stifling, darker.

Remus knew well who it was in this room, when he felt panic seize his mind like never before. But he still giggled, his breath running short. He turned his head slowly, to the rare visitor, clad in pitch black, blending in perfectly with this hell, but still remaining within the intruding light, lingering in the doorway. He took small, trembling steps and breaths, until he was now in the farthest corner, gripping a plate with pale knuckles.

Remus felt drool sliding down his chin and cheek as he breathed another laugh, his grin straining into a grimace. He dug his nails into his thundering chest.

"Here," Virgil snapped, a deep, booming voice already controlling his wavering one, as he threw the plate in Remus' vicinity. The rotting salad fell onto the floor, and Virgil shortly cringed. His pupils were so dilated, there was no evidence of his brown irises in the limited light still coloring his ashen features. How is it that Virgil was more frightening than his own mind?

"I'd love to eat dead plants with a side of ashes, but I think human flesh would be more delicious," Remus raved, neck cracking as he tilted his head sideways with unnatural force. Virgil flinched, arms immediately embracing himself. "Would you care to experiment with me?" His face hurt from grinning so widely. A small part of him wished it seemed friendly.

Virgil scoffed, hunching even further into himself. "They're right, they're always right about you," he spat venomously, but his eyes were already expecting death from his words. Remus only chuckled, chewing his finger, so Virgil proceeded. "You're here 'cause you blew it, asshole. If you only had _some_ self-control, Deceit wouldn't have put you here."

"Oh yes!" Remus agreed vehemently, muffled by his already bloodied finger. "Because I'm so _horrendous_ , aren't I? We were only having fun, Virgil!"

"Your definition of fun is so fucked up." Virgil's voice broke at the last two words. His ebony eyes were already brimming with tears. "You hurt everyone you ' _play_ ' with. You almost killed me."

"Uh huh," he nodded, unblinkingly. "The feeling of something impossible happening is so _fun_!"

Virgil sighed heavily, much like Deceit, and dug the heels of his palms in his eyes. "Just eat, for fuck's sake, so I can get out of here."

"How's my brother?" he suddenly asked, his heart unreasonably shriveling at the thought of him.

"Much better off without _you_." He dropped his hands to glare. "He hates you, you know. Everyone does."

Remus shook his head, wanting to laugh at the joke, but abruptly unable to. "My brother wouldn't. He's perfect. He even visited me!"

"Stop being delusional, you dumbass, of course Roman didn't visit you."

"Or did I?"

Virgil froze up, somehow paling even more, when two perfect, graceful hands took his shoulders. That voice was so deep, whispered, like a secret between the two. Roman's black eyes wrinkled in a smile, his grinning teeth now dripping with gore. Virgil was quivering violently by now.

"S-stop it, Remus." The venom was gone. It sounded like he was at the mercy of Roman already.

"Hello, brother," Remus greeted, barely above a whisper, ignoring the chill crawling up his spine at the empty grin pinned on him.

Roman's tongue slithered all over Virgil's neck, his hands tightening their grip on his shoulders. " _Remus_!" His voice was a deafening scream, on the verge of tears. He was hyperventilating. Remus could only emptily beam at it all. " **Fuck** you!"

"I told you my brother visited."

The door crashed wide open, Remus hissing at the sudden luminescence. Virgil yelped, jerking a foot away from the door, even deeper into the corner.

"Do you wish to starve?" queried Deceit, staring coldly, only at Remus, not sparing a glance to Virgil. Virgil only sobbed, sliding onto the floor, curling up.

Remus felt like sobbing too. Roman was nowhere in sight.

"Well?" Deceit insisted impatiently.

"It's raining," Remus began singing, cracking and off-key, "it's pouring... Virgil is pouring."

Virgil shrieked into his fist, staring in horror as a gaping wound poured so much blood. Deceit finally looked at Virgil, and took a trembling breath, a disturbed comprehension dawning in his features. He immediately picked Virgil up, both becoming soaked with the crimson in seconds. Virgil was settling into shock, tears ceasing as his limbs fell limp upon Deceit's frame.

"I'm laughing, I'm crying," Remus continued, feeling warmth sliding down his cheeks. Devil bless the warmth. The door clanged shut, the light leaving with them, Deceit's cursing barely heard in the distance.

" **Virgil is dying**."

* * *

He curled up in the corner now, knees covering his chest, and he hid his head between them, covering his ears and whispering pleads to the monsters cackling and ordering him to rot beneath the shadows. It felt like forever had passed, forever of countless escape attempts, forever of deafening silence that he bowed to break—but he couldn't remember much more than that. The forever was taking his memories away, the nice ones, the ones that comforted him.

The ones that showed Roman smiling freely at him, playing with him, accepting a few inappropriate things _as long as the others didn't know about them._

He loathed his shaking hands and drowning lungs, his pounding head and racing heart. Everything about him was _loud_ —he could _hear_ the blood rushing through his head, his chest, he could hear his lungs straining to expand, he could hear his neurons overloading themselves.

"You're so pathetic."

He flinched, as he always did when Deceit came...

Wait...

He hadn't heard the heavy, metal door, nor had he seen some of the blinding light—or as blinding as it must've been compared to this awful blackness. And then, there was the intonation and accent of his voice. It wasn't sarcastic—in fact, it was so _achingly_ familiar, yet deeper than what pulled at his fading, confused memory. He finally opened his eyes, and slowly looked up from where he hid his face behind his knees and arms. A heavy gasp escaped him, but his breath froze after that.

Wispy, graceful, carefully combed, brown hair. A suit so _white_ , like snow, splattered with blood that was the crimson sash. A golden ornament hung over his shoulder. He was too bright to look at, but his shining brown eyes had a glint he didn't recognize.

His vision tunneled, his breaths were so shallow they barely existed. He lost sensation all over his body, an empty numbness overcoming and filling him up until there didn't seem to be anything within him.

"R-R..." he croaked out, unable to get his lips, his tongue, his vocal chords to cooperate.

The blinding, grinning, graceful man towered over him; but his grin was way too off, his eyes too wide, his pupils slits, his teeth so white, but like snow, and blood shed upon it, there were specks of crimson on the otherwise perfect teeth. He looked so _flawless_ , but then didn't. So confident and courageous—sinister and cruel—beautiful and majestic—terrifying and mighty.

He scoffed, too-wide grin widening even further, barely cracking his face in half. "So _cowardly_ , brother. You should be ashamed of yourself!" His voice was so effervescent, so sweet, so monotone, so deep and dark and—

A slap interrupted his thoughts, so harsh the world tilted, he momentarily merged the cardinal directions and gravity, and the side of his face and his left eyelid stung like they were scorched.

Roman hushed him gently, with such a toxic sweetness, placing his finger over the other's mouth to silence him. "You don't want to think, brother. You don't want to be _disgusting_ , do you?"

He shook his head desperately, vainly trying not to whimper.

"See no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil. Remember? Didn't Patton teach us _so_ well? Didn't Thomas' parents? Didn't the Church? Didn't everyone? Why?!" Roman's pupils darkened into an inky black, spreading over his brown irises and bloodshot sclerae. His brother's glare could melt his skin. And all that sweetness snapped into a furious roar. "Why can't you just obey?!" He was being strangled now, his lungs screaming and burning, his throat crushed—he was going to die— "Why can't you _stop **thinking!**_ "

The door crashed, and light invaded the room like Roman's vengeance, and he convulsed, the pain in his throat and strain in his lungs receding. There was no sign of Roman, no snowhite stabbing his eyes, mixed with the gore. He shuddered, shivering so violently, like Roman's snowstorm was slowing his bloodstream, freezing his arteries and bones with ice and numbness.

"Are you ready to rebel?" Deceit asked, his voice so far away, barely reaching his ears over the rush of his bloodstream. "Or will you not cooperate?"

He merely dug his nails into his chest, willing his heart to stop pounding like a drum set, giving his chest and arteries whiplash. He was trembling so much.

A deep sigh. "Totally acceptable."

He clenched his eyes shut, wanting to listen to Deceit over the roar of creatures nipping at his skin, crawling over him, blanketing him until there'd be nothing left. Over Roman's laughter echoing all over this wretched hell of a cell.

"Remus."

He jerked, and it felt like he could finally take a real breath he couldn't take in decades. "...Is..." He took another shaky breath, hating how thick his voice was, hating how his giggles didn't sound like giggles. "Is that me?"

Another sigh. So many sighs. And then, Remus felt something on the back of his head, light and gentle. He yelped, curling away from it, his mind already giving it size and shape, crimson sclera and black irises and white pupils, but there was a voice close to it. A voice that was cold and detached, and filled with irony, _not_ dark and sweet. But now, there was something fragile edging into that cold voice... "Yes, Remus. That's...that's your name." It took him so long to realize it was a hand caressing his head. It loosened him into nothingness, almost, that gentleness. Gentleness wasn't supposed to exist here.

"What year is it?" he whispered to his knees, coughing up the ashes accumulating on the floor and floating in the air perpetually. They looked like Roman's snowflakes. "How long...?"

Deceit's soft, gloved hand screeched to a halt, and Remus could sense his whole body stiffening beside him. He was silent for so long, Remus pictured him with ashen skin and rotting flesh and black gore—he was undead, wasn't he?

"...It is...2017."

Now it was Remus' turn to freeze—his whole body ceased working, his palpitating heart wasn't beating anymore, his thoughts _finally_ , **blessedly** , shut down. "H...h-huh?"

"It hasn't been long," Deceit rushed to explain. Remus knew him well enough, he sensed the lie in his voice, but damn it, he's never heard anxiety in that voice before. "Only a few months since then. It must've felt long to you, but it wasn't."

"It was nineteen-ninety... When...when was it?" His words slurred together to the point that not even he understood himself. He didn't even remember what he just said. Fuck, he was so _tired_.

"Remus, it wasn't in the nineties when you were put here, you're wrong. Your imagination is running wild, is all." What was the tension in his voice now? What the hell was he talking about?

"Are you lonely, Dee?" Why did he sound like such a baby? His voice was too weak, too hoarse from screeching for days on end.

Now it was a trembling sigh. "Remus, I made broth for you. You look healthy, not thin whatsoever."

"N't hungry... Dee, is it quiet and cold out there, too? I don't remember."

"It is somehow so much worse for you to scream." Deceit's voice kept transforming. Maybe it wasn't Dee? Maybe he could prove it by slitting his throat, or, or, or... Or fucking him, or, or...

"Remus?"

He breathed again, a real, unstrained smile blossoming in his lips and cheeks. "Keep calling me that."

He saw Deceit's lips twitch, but the smile seemed superficial. Artificial.

Thank Hell it wasn't so wide and white.

"Where's Virgil?" He still remembered the lullaby, the gore, the horror in the atmosphere. Virgil had never come after that.

Deceit flinched, stiffened for the second time. But he breathed and blinked again, behaving as if it hadn't happened at all. "He's scared of what happened, but he's not gone. He'll visit you again." He didn't look certain with those words. "He's confused, but he hasn't left us. He never will."

The betrayal in Deceit's eyes told otherwise.

* * *

It took forever for Dee to miraculously allow him to rest his head upon the other's lap, but so long as his back was turned to Deceit. He was caressing his hair again, but the hand that immediately reassured him it wasn't his...his brother's, was...weak. Erratic, even. But with him here, a semblance of warmth could be felt. It brought tears to his eyes every time.

"Hey, what...?" Remus trailed off, but his voice immediately took a crescendo. "What was my brother's name, Dee? Do I _have_ a brother? I must, he keeps calling out to me, he wants us to play together again." He groaned with the effort of turning around to look at Dee, kick-starting a migraine like it was a talent. He felt a strange pull of... _something_ , that really made him believe that it wasn't a lie. Once upon a time, his brother called it... Was it called hope? "You've seen him, right?"

His mind made up the tears in Dee's eyes, and the dark circles under them, and the thinness of his cheeks. They weren't real. Deceit had told him so, countless times. He also imagined the strain in Dee's voice. "Yes, of course I have. He..." Deceit looked away, his breaths becoming heavier. "He misses you, and tells me he wants to play again. Like old times."

The weight that perpetually crushed his chest lifted and he laughed so hard. "H-he..." he began breathlessly, wheezing from laughter, "he _misses_ me? He, he still likes me?!"

Deceit smiled, but it was a grimace and it strained and wobbled. _Not real_ , Remus whispered to himself, barely breathing the words. "Of course he does."

He took Deceit's bowtie and chin in both of his hands, and leaned up until their faces were inches apart. "Does that mean I can come outside now?" he whispered excitedly, like it was a secret no one could ever know. "Can I play? Can I kill the dragon witch before she steals his life and cuts off his limbs and makes him combust to merge with him, like the Mind Flayer? Can I gouge the kitten's eyes, can I stab you, can I go can I go can I be free?!" He didn't realize he was screaming, bruising Deceit's chin, his voice unrecognizable, mixed with three more demented voices over his own, and he froze at the sight of fear in Deceit's gaze.

Deceit gently took Remus' hands and pulled them away from him, never looking him in the eye. "Remus, do you know why you're here?"

Remus smiled but it _hurt_ to smile. "I made things sexy and cool, and it made Pat—Patrick? It made Dad mad." Deceit only seemed even more distraught by his answer.

He sighed, looking to the ceiling, opened his mouth, but no words came out. He groaned to himself. And Remus' heart was beating his chest like a sledgehammer, but it was too fast—and he adored its lack of rhythm. And his head pounded and pounded, and he was light-headed, and he was probably going to throw up—

"Why can't I play with him? What's his name?! What is his **name**?!" He was roaring now, the long missed hilt of a knife in his hand, but he felt a jolt of pain run through his whole arm when it came in contact with the weapon. He cried out, then giggled, tears already slipping through his shut eyelids.

"You have a host," Deceit began, and his voice was so thick and brittle, "and your host had parents and teachers and friends and the television and the Church, and they all told him we harmed him." He gasped, like he was running out of breath, just like Remus. "And he told himself we didn't exist, and never thought of us again. _That's_ why you can't play with Roman, or rape or stab or steal or—or _anything_ , because Thomas deems it wrong." Deceit was glaring now, with fiery irises. "So stop asking for what can't _be!_ "

Remus cackled and cackled, and his hands were strangling Dee's throat, and he cursed Thomas with every word he could rack his mind with, and he sobbed, and cackled again. Then he gagged, for there was a snake slithering up his stomach and he threw up poison and blood instead of bile.

* * *

Now he could barely comprehend what the thin, weak man with the vain attempts of hiding the bruises of his neck, said. His mind was reeling, non-stop, and he couldn't focus long enough to hear a word. Spoonfuls of something were forced into his mouth, something warm, for a change, and the weary man before him muttered and whispered things that were probably in another language. It was easier to stare at the dragon witch and her cheshire grin ~~or Mind Flayer?~~ than at the man. The man tried to be cruel and rough, but his eyes were so haunted. But he didn't care about that, he just grinned and focused on the blood spurting from the walls.

The back of a hand shakily pressed itself onto his forehead, and the man grimaced. "You're freezing...you have a fever."

He _was_ shivering, but he thought it was because someone was possessing his body.

"We have so much medicine, thanks to Virgil," the man growled, staring at the ground. He wished to ask if his missing eyeball was there, where he stared. Or maybe a penis. He sighed contently, feeling himself fall limp—

He was shaken roughly, and a whimper escaped his throat.

"You can't stay awake— _shit_. Stay with me, Remus, open your eyes. Look at me, it's Deceit. Remember?"

Lights and colors lit up his world whenever he blinked—either that or broken bones and blood—but anything was better than darkness. His left eyelid—or right?—was pulled open, but he blearily saw dulled colors of grey and black. The darkness made him whimper again.

" _Remus_." Now the man—Deceit, right? He was desperate. Did he say his name? Was that the foreign language? Was that his brother calling for him, waiting to play again? Was that the light taunting him? "Remus, please. Please, I can bear being alone. I can live without you two." Was the trembling of the voice indicating the opposite? "I can leave until you're answering me. I _will_. I don't _care_ if you don't!"

His brother's laughter was never right anymore, he could never remember it. But it sounded like it was real just now. "Wait for me..." he whined to his brother, barely above a whisper. "I'll come out soon." Finally, he saw the _light_! Sunlight on his skin, burning him, leaving his flesh blackened, gore dried upon bared, crimson flesh, far better than the freezing cold in here. Anything was better than here, in The Upside Down, waiting for the Mind Flayer to finish possessing him and put him out of his misery. No! No, not misery! It was fun here, it was **hilarious** here!

"I've treated fevers before. I have. Really." The breath sprinkled upon his face, his forehead meeting his brother's. He sighed shakily in relief. His brother finally visited, and not to ~~torture~~ play with him. Just to be there. "I know what to do." He was barely whispering. "I can make it right. It isn't my fault. It's not my _fault_." Arms embraced him tightly, grounding him only a bit. A part of him screamed spider, another screamed his brother. "Leave me," his brother, embracing and crushing him, pleaded. But if his own eyes fluttered open, and if he stopped listening to screams and his brother's distorted, forgotten laughter, he realized it could never be him, and much less a spider.

"...'ee?" He felt the other's forehead shift rapidly against his own, nodding like a child. "Dee... 'M scared. It's s-so dark."

"I'm..." Dee began, uncertainly. "I-I, I'm here. I'm right here." Then his voice broke completely. "Don't leave, Remus."

He giggled. Dee would never let him leave, yet he pleaded him to stay anyway. He was such an idiot. Everything was fading away, and he breathlessly giggled once more.

"I... I _can_ make it right."

Remus' irises opened for the last time, blurrily seeing the slow dawning of realization in Dee's eyes, as he slowly sat up above him.

"I'll make it right. I'll do something _right_ , for once." Dee breathlessly laughed too, his eyes brimmed with tears but mirroring a glee he's never seen in anyone. Not even his brother.

Maybe it was a mirror.

"Keep fighting, Remus, just a bit longer." Dee cupped his cheek, heterochromatic eyes boring into his own, delirious and unfocused as they were. "Do it for seeing Roman again, and—and the light. You want to see the sunlight, right?"

Remus imagined how the sun would explode and burn the whole earth with it, melting people and leaving them to ashes. Maybe it was a nice way to go. He was _sick_ of the cold, and he could finally be one with the ashes.

"Please stay strong, Remus." With that, he heard harsh, quick footsteps, the crash of the door, and then nothing.

Back to the curse of silence. Maybe screaming could fix it. Or slamming his head against the floor.

* * *

He could feel something sticky and warm beneath his head, then his neck, then his shoulders. It smelled like a garden of roses. Roses painted with gore, like in Wonderland. Despite that beautiful sensation in the back of his head, followed by the miraculously pleasant warmth, he felt unbearably empty. He dug his nails into his pupils, then scratched away the skin around his arms. He wanted to feel, to be joyful, even broken, _anything_ but this. He slammed his head against the floor again, avoiding the disgust and horror in his brother's eyes—and a sudden epiphany struck him like the clock tower striking midnight.

His brother—he was outside, playing, doing whatever he wanted. He could taste the sunlight, sing whatever he wished without needing to scream at his thoughts, eat the most disgusting foods and the "good" ones. He was outside, he never knew what the dark and cold were. He was _free_.

And if he was free, then he never wished to use his freedom to see him. Because deep, deep down, in the hole where his heart and soul used to be, he knew that the horrifying gaze, breath, grin, laughter, and voice, could never be his brother's. His brother was too **perfect** **and loved** for that.

A numbness unlike any other spread through him, worse than just a few ~~years?~~ minutes ago, leaving only the deaths and tortures to entertain him, for he couldn't feel a thing. Perhaps he was finally ceasing to exist, or never existed in the first place, for his heart just wasn't there, and his bones didn't hold his flesh, the air didn't exist anymore, his blood ran cold and froze up. And he found the emotion, a parody of his brother's invention, the bitter opposite emotion that only lived in The Upside Down; something his brother would never feel.

He was hopeless.

Nothing mattered anymore, and he would stay here forever, until there was nothing left. He waved goodbye to the sunlight that didn't exist, to the brother he made up to live in glory, to Dee. Lonely, masked Dee. And his thoughts finally lost all meaning, running everywhere and nowhere at once, unable to be remembered and without a semblance of sense. They didn't matter nor exist either.

A crash was heard not far from him, and he didn't flinch. He didn't even blink, or take a breath. But his racing, chaotic thoughts momentarily ceased. His eyes flickered to Deceit, and something clicked. Dee wore the first real smile in forever.

Deceit wrapped something around his head quickly, squeezed his hand tightly, and smiled wider.

"You're free," he whispered, tears brimming his bloodshot eyes. "You're finally free, Remus. I'm so sorry." He attempted to laugh, but all his lies were crashing down before him. It was the first time he apologized so truthfully, vulnerably. Remus couldn't help but stare. "I'm so, so sorry. Can you stand? I'm getting you out of here."

Remus didn't answer.

Deceit's breath hitched, trembled, quickened. "You have to understand, please, Remus—I'm sorry. I should've done something sooner." His clenched his eyes shut, tears freely slipping through. "Why didn't I do it _sooner_?"

His thoughts still raced, making it impossible to focus on Dee, but he looked seconds away from collapsing.

"Thomas knows who we are now." He grinned, and Remus did it merely to imitate. "He wanted to know about the dark side of his identity, and now you can leave. You can _leave_ , Remus. You don't have to hide anymore. I'm not keeping you here anymore." The last sentence had a pain that ran so deep, even Remus felt it in his non-existent, spectral soul.

Remus' brows furrowed, eyes opening wider than the slits. "I..." he breathed, voice gone, "'M free?"

"Yes!" Deceit laughed, but it was still too pained. He gently picked him up by the armpits, lay his head on his shoulder, balancing him against his self, as if holding an infant. "I'll take you to the sunlight, Remus."

The door was opened more than a mere crack, and the light was blinding, terrifying. He laughed anyway, his chest too tight, his throat choking on blood, his mind screaming about the serpent in his stomach again. He buried his face into the crook of Deceit's neck, and Deceit's hold on him tightened, as he carried him to the sun.

He remembered the disgust and horror, the insults and the gasps, the arguments to get rid of him, and then the idolization of the favorite brother who **hated** him. He could finally return, see him again. See them all again.

And this time, he'd return with a _**vengeance**_.

**Author's Note:**

> So, further speaking about the sympathetic-ishness of all the characters here, I just wanted to mention that I don't justify the things the Dark Sides have done, or the things I made them do in this fic. I wanted to show that though their corrupted worldview is part of their identity, and also worsened because of the lack of wise treatment of them and their less-than-conventional ways, they also behave and make choices that dysfunctional people do, mistakes that they could've had control over. People from solitary confinement don't always have to be violent, and people who suffered trauma don't have to harm others to feel better in their pain. People don't have to adopt a cold and cruel persona to feel stable. Yet these were the choices Remus, Virgil, and Deceit made here. The only one who had a somewhat character development here is Deceit, but he's far from perfect. Virgil deals with both of the other sides based on his fear and anger towards them, and both of those, if left unchecked, can very well combine into hatred, which doesn't benefit anyone. Finally, Remus was an already unstable side, but his whole self-worth and identity revolves around his love and admiration for his brother, and the knowledge that if they were together, maybe he wasn't a lost cause. However all that goes out the window from the lies of his own mind, the lies of omission from Deceit, and the false, bitter words from Virgil. Instead of hanging onto something real, like the slow growth of care Deceit felt for him, he still held onto Roman. But it wasn't entirely his fault, everyone just copes differently. Better or worse. There's not exactly a good or bad coping in comparison for me, because nobody can respond completely well from trauma. That's what I wanted to show here, cause I love morally imperfect characters.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this story, and are excited for Deceit's perspective in the next work. I also hope my point came across in this fic, though I think it was a bit too subtle. Thank you for reading!


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